RerightRewrite the Wrongs
by DCWash
Summary: How Allan a Dale should have died


**Title:** Reright/Rewrite the Wrongs

**Author:** DCWash

**Characters:** Robin, Allan

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect.

**Rating:** Angsty, but clean.

**Spoilers:** References to 3x12

**Length:** 871 words.

**Summary: **How Allan _should_ have died.

As old men are dying, they sometimes leave their present state and go back to the places and the people of their youth. Allan a Dale had been in Sherwood Forest for two days now, even though his body remained in his daughter's house in the middle of Locksley. His family was at first sad that he no longer knew them, but as Rosie said (paraphrasing Allan himself when her mother died), "He loves us and is proud of us, and he knows we love him and are proud of him, and in the end, that's all that matters." He seemed to be comfortable, and happy, so the children settled in to keep their vigil with a certain mordant humor as he used language their mother would never have allowed in her house, and the grand-children puzzled at who these people were he was talking to that not only could they not see, but had never heard mentioned in all of his florid stories. ("Roy? Who's Roy?" Sam whispered to Rosie, only to get a shake of the head for an answer.)

But eventually Allan's journey to the past took a darker turn. He started to mutter, and pluck at the bedcovers, and writhe and wriggle as if he couldn't get comfortable. "What? I didn't do anything!" he called out. "Honest! I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. I learned my lesson." He suddenly sat upright, staring wide-eyed at something invisible to the rest of them. "Much! You believe me, don't you? Much?" he pleaded. The family looked at each other, not knowing what to do—Much had died months ago, of the influenza that was going around, and when they had tried answering in his role earlier in the proceedings, Allan hadn't been fooled. "Tuck? Guy? Don't you believe me? Don't any of you believe me? Robin? Please…." His distress was palpable.

Seth, the oldest of the grown children, heard the last bit as he slipped out of the door. He ran to the manor house as fast as his by-now-creaky knees allowed and burst into the house, surprising not only Robin but the servants.

"Dad," he simply said. "He needs you."

And Robin turned to the butler and said, just as simply, "Saddle my horse. Quickly." The trip across Locksley was a short one, but Robin knew that, at his age, there was no way he could keep up with Seth's pace afoot. And if, at this stage, Allan needed him, Robin knew he had to be there for him. Allan—_Allan a Dale, the ultimate survivor_, Robin always thought—was the last one left of Robin's old gang. He and Robin had had a nice visit not long before Allan slipped into the netherworld, and without stating the obvious seemed to say their final goodbyes. Robin felt he had no right to intrude on Allan's family after that, but secretly longed to do more.

When they walked into the room, Sam and Rosie's husband were working to restrain an agitated Allan while Rosie tried to soothe him. "None of you? None of you believe me? I gave you the best years of my life, and you still don't trust me?" Allan said bitterly, looking from one invisible face to the other.

Robin strode right to his bedside, and Allan immediately recognized him for who he was, and calmed down enough that his son and son-in-law put their hands down. "Robin? Not even you?" he said, sadly. "I promise, I didn't do anything! I don't know what John's talking about! I've changed! I swear it!"

"I know, Allan," Robin said, clasping both of Allan's hands in his own.

"Then why don't you believe me? I'd never help Isabella!" He was calmer, but still obviously worried.

"I know, Allan," Robin repeated, soothingly. "I believe you."

"You do?" Allan sounded relieved but dubious. "You didn't earlier."

"And I was a fool not to. It should have been obvious. If I you were in league with Isabella, she wouldn't announce your pardon to everybody like that, would she? No, she's just trying to turn us against each other…." Robin noticed for the first time how cloudy Allan's blue eyes had become as they stared into Robin's, searching for reassurance. "I was a fool. Can you forgive me?"

Allan nodded, a little weakly, still a little unsure, but calm now. "You'll tell the others? You'll make sure they know they can trust me?" he asked.

Ever since his stroke, Robin's emotions had run close to the surface, and now tears were streaming down his face. "I'll tell them. I'll make them see reason. But I think you'll probably run into them before I do." He was still, fiercely, clasping Allan's hands.

Allan nodded again. _That would do_, he seemed to decide. He smiled his cocky grin—the one his family had seen so much of the last couple of days—and said, "Bloody hell, then, are you ever going to untie me or not?"

Robin laughed through his tears and dropped Allan's hands. Allan, grin intact, lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes and, seemingly, fell asleep. But his breathing soon grew raspy and then, with a little shudder, it stopped altogether.


End file.
